kindness on a thursday

catching the 7:03am bus to work
right as your eyes are adjusting to the lights
the heavy glass doors opened
and are followed by a smile by the driver
and the passenger talking with her
as you climb onboard
and tap your card to pay your fare

a spontaneous trip after work to a quaint park
with a waterfall and a fence under construction
and feeling the breeze on your face
and a grip around your waist tightening closer
to your newfound partner
as he pulls you in closer for a romantic kiss
between two trees where you used to
calm yourself when you cried on your lunch break

between the brush strokes on the blank canvas
and a few drunken laughs about monet’s water lillies
during a hip night in the basement of a restaurant
with your coworkers and other pals
you see your refilled glass of wine
and remember

there isn’t a hideous enough monster
to send you a grin, ugly and all
or squander your soul
that can destroy the beauty you’ve noticed
or the empathy you’ve built
through that constant, troubled blaze
because what you have is the solitude of your own desires